Crash, crash, crash! Two weeks before Christmas, my son shatters an ornament with three jabs of a mini hockey stick. I spend the afternoon combing through the carpet for shards of glass and vacuuming until a satisfying array of lines replaces the mess. The hand-painted ornament was a favorite—a souvenir from the San Diego Zoo—and each year when we placed it on the tree, I … Continue reading A Tree Full of Stories
I love white twinkle lights on palm trees.⠀I love a mailbox full of Christmas cards.⠀I love baristas and cashiers decked out in ugly sweaters and reindeer headbands with jingle bells.I love fancy gingerbread houses.⠀I love homemade ornaments made with handprints and pipe cleaners and gobs of paint (but not glitter…just…no).I love baking cookies with little chefs in tiny aprons.I love angels flapping awkwardly in live … Continue reading I Love…Christmas Edition
On my bed, sitting criss-cross-applesauce during nap time, notebooks and pens scattered across the bedspread.On the couch after the kids go to bed, tapping away on the keyboard past midnight.In an apartment in Japan, making sense of life with two littles.At the kitchen table, trying to ignore the crumbs and sticky spots left behind after dinner.At a desk with Yo-Yo Ma in my earbuds.In a … Continue reading Where I’ve Written
For the ones who don’t know…
where the bathroom is
how to purchase school lunch
the principal’s name
where the bus stop is
their new addresses
which state they live in. Continue reading A Blessing for The New Kids
my hands grip each other tightly, fingers interlocked, thumbs folded over each other. Sometimes my hands are clasped, a hollow space between them, at the ready like a cheer captain. Sometimes my hands stand tall and flat, pressed together, swishing back and forth like a fish’s tail, resting against my bowed forehead. But sometimes when I pray, my hands wipe tears, smooth hair out of eyes, deliver a meal to someone’s doorstep. Sometimes my hands slam … Continue reading Sometimes when I pray
after Nora Ephron
I live in my head, in a house, in someone else’s hometown in Michigan. Continue reading Where I Live
No, I didn’t shave my legs for this. I can’t remember the last time I painted my nails, the last time I glossed my lips, the last time I let a pit stain bring me shame. I don’t plan on hiding my stretch marks, my under eye circles, my gray hairs; I’m a sucker for show-and-tell. Let me be clear, I’m an adult mammal–I’ve got … Continue reading 38
By late March, the buds start to open, revealing delicate pink and white petals. We hop in the van and drive toward Show Kinen Park, stopping on the way to pick up a conbini lunch of fried chicken, nigiri, and egg salad sandwiches. We walk familiar paths to a grassy field surrounded by trees heavy with blossoms–an ideal spot for hanami. Hanami means “flower viewing” … Continue reading Hanami
The constellation Orion. Latte art. The Classics you never read. Salt Cookie ice cream from Blue Seal. The soft dough of toddler feet in your hands. Speaking of dough: warm, homemade cinnamon rolls covered in gooey icing. Text threads with college friends. Donut shops you haven’t discovered yet. Dinner table shenanigans. Glowing faces with puckered lips, hovered over birthday cakes. Birthday cakes. Wine tasting in Argentina. Double decker bus rides in London. I hear Alaska is amazing this time of year. Continue reading Reasons to Live through the Apocalypse
If you give a mom leftover birthday cake, she’ll want a glass of milk to go with it. When she opens the cupboard to get a glass, she’ll realize she forgot to run the dishwasher. After she starts the dishwasher, she’ll add dishwasher detergent to the grocery list. Which reminds her–She’s supposed to pick up her grocery order this morning.⠀⠀⠀ Continue reading If You Give a Mom Leftover Birthday Cake
Melissa Kutsche 